The Deep End

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  “What?”

  “The lifeguards all have a bird’s-eye view of the pool and a clear shot at everyone in the pool area. They’re in plain sight, but people look right past them.” Doug reached for his microphone and pulled it down in front of his mouth.

  “It’s a possibility.”

  Doug turned on his mike and redeployed the security team. He and Toblin studied the images available to them. Three lifeguards were up on the stands, one woman and two men.

  “Doesn’t it seem a bit excessive to have three guards up at a meet of this caliber?” Doug asked.

  “Yeah,” Toblin agreed. “I would have expected one, maybe two at the most.”

  “Think like a pool manager for a minute. Which stands would you put your guards in?” Doug pointed at a guard stand at the far side of the pool, right above the starter. The guard leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching the races beneath him. “That one, right?”

  Toblin nodded in agreement. “If I was going to put up a second guard, I would probably use the one directly across the pool.” He tapped the image on the screen of the female lifeguard, who leaned forward looking at the pool, her arms resting on the rescue tube on her lap. “Make sure she could help with crowd control if we needed it.”

  “Which would make this one our shooter.” Doug pointed to the other guard, who was only partially in view. He looked relaxed in the chair, his rescue tube also lying across his lap. Doug clicked on his mike again, sending one agent to detain the guard in question, and another to verify that he was supposed to be there.

  On the monitors, Doug and Keith watched their agent approach the third lifeguard. In a practiced move, the agent rested his hand at his waist, just above the gun hidden beneath his jacket. He motioned with the other hand for the guard to come down off his chair. The next few seconds passed by in a blur.

  The lifeguard swung the rescue tube toward the agent, who swiftly blocked it. As the agent reached up to pull the lifeguard to the ground, a voice came over the wire.

  “The manager said that only one of these guards usually works here. The other two were sent by U.S.A. Swimming.”

  “The female lifeguard!” Doug and Toblin both shouted in unison, even as she lifted her rescue tube.

  “Shooter! Get down!” Doug instructed Sherri. A split second later, a gunshot rang out.

  Sherri’s body jerked and fell to the concrete floor as two agents rushed to her side. Seconds later, another shot echoed across the pool, and the female lifeguard fell forward into the pool with a splash.

  “Give me a status report,” Doug insisted over the mike, trying to ignore the screams of the crowd. The ambulance crew on stand-by tried to push their way through one of the emergency doors, wading through the athletes attempting to get outside. Security had already reacted and was trying to evacuate the pool area, leaving Doug’s team to deal with the source of the problem.

  “Sherri’s okay,” one agent reported. “The bullet hit the body armor. Looks like a couple of bruised ribs, but she’ll be fine.”

  “Good to hear.” Doug breathed a sigh of relief. He signaled Toblin and moved to the door in the back of the van. “What’s the status on our shooters?”

  “We’re fishing the woman out of the water right now. Looks like we need the coroner,” one of the marshals reported. “The other suspect is secured.”

  “We’ll be right there.”

  Ten minutes later, Doug held a lifeguard’s rescue tube in his hand, shaking his head in amazement. He had pulled back the foam rubber to reveal a sniper’s rifle inside. The two lifeguards that claimed to be from U.S.A. Swimming had carried identical rescue tubes, complete with deadly weapons inside. “I’ve never seen this approach before.”

  “That makes two of us,” Toblin sighed.

  * * *

  Jimmy Malloy sat back and watched the news. The swimming community was shocked by the random shooting at the meet in Los Angeles. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Malloy grinned as he watched the perky, young newscaster sensationalize the story and how the shooters’ plan was foiled by the federal agents at the meet. Hardly.

  Everything had gone according to his plan, or at least one variation of it. Ideally, the men he sent to the swim meet would have succeeded in knocking off Christal Jones. The fact that she survived was just one contingency he had been prepared for.

  He had been smart enough to front only a small portion of the kill fee, promising the two assassins a large payoff after they completed the job. Now he would use the money they had failed to earn to employ a new set of hired guns. With his own funds limited, Malloy had convinced Rush to provide the cash necessary to pay for the assassins. Only a single offshore account held by Chris Rush had escaped the notice of the federal government, but Jimmy still wasn’t sure how much Rush had stashed there. Only Rush’s accountant could access it, but he continued to dole out money when Rush deemed it necessary.

  If by chance the feds did manage to trace the money used to pay for the hit, they would only find evidence of Rush’s involvement. Malloy could easily alter the paper trail to eliminate proof of his connection to the most recent attempt on the girl, leaving Rush with both the bill and the blame. With the other witness against him taken care of, she was the only real obstacle to Malloy completing the takeover of Rush’s organization.

  Rush’s ego kept him from seeing the forest through the trees. Did he really think that after nearly three years Malloy’s loyalty could survive? The best thing that could happen for Malloy would be Rush’s conviction. Malloy would put on airs for a time, just in case Rush still had some stooges within the organization. It wouldn’t take more than a year, maybe two, to weed them out and claim the top spot for himself.

  The remaining members of the organization were already accustomed to Malloy being in charge. At this point, taking over officially was just a technicality, one that would be resolved by Rush’s conviction or death. Malloy would get the girl somehow. Once she was gone, the evidence against him would be practically nonexistent. If by some miracle the cops ever managed to collar him, they would have no hard evidence against him. Framing Rush for organizing the hit on Christal would just put another nail in that coffin. Malloy could already taste the power of being on top, and he found he liked it far too much to let anyone get in his way.

  He picked up the file next to him on the couch and flipped through it. While the newscast droned on, he propped a foot up on the coffee table and began reading over the swim meet schedule for the next month.

  Chapter 13

  When she got out of the pool Saturday night, CJ glanced at her watch. Since Doug’s call earlier that day, she hadn’t heard anything about what had happened at the swim meet in LA, and she was beginning to think they must have scrubbed the operation. She figured that if anything serious had happened, Tara or Lacey would have told her. Maybe no one had shown up in LA looking for her after all.

  After she had finished drying off, Pete handed her a notebook. “Put this in your kitchen. I want you to start writing down everything you eat so I can see if there are any changes we should make to your diet before the trials.”

  “Okay, but I already eat pretty well,” CJ assured him.

  “We’ll see,” Pete replied gruffly. He started toward the parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  CJ started to agree and then remembered what day it was. “But tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t practice on Sundays,” CJ stated. “I’m sorry—it never occurred to me that you would plan a Sunday practice.”

  “If you want to make the Olympics, you need to practice every day. You can’t afford to take any days off.”

  “I’m sorry.” CJ shook her head. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful or lazy. It’s a religious thing.”

  “Serious athletes don’t have time to be religious.”

  “The Olympic trials are only seven weeks away. I don’t have time to stop being religious.” CJ picked up her bag, realizing for the first ti
me that the intense training schedule Pete had planned was based on a seven-day week. “What if I put in extra practices on Friday, Saturday, and Monday? That way I’m still swimming the same number of yards you have planned each week.”

  Pete studied her for a moment and then shook his head. “You’re serious about this.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “I don’t want you doing more than three practices a day. You’re already in the water for nine hours every day as it is.” Pete studied his clipboard for a minute and then looked back at CJ. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Thanks, Pete.” CJ let out a little sigh of relief.

  “By the way, what religion are you?”

  “Mormon.”

  “I should have known.”

  * * *

  Matt climbed the stairs and turned down the hall to the room he had shared with his wife up until two weeks ago. Since he had been riding the bench for the past three days, he knew he shouldn’t be tired, but he was exhausted. He kept reminding himself that he and CJ had been separated before and that somehow everything always worked out. He could convince himself it was true until he got home and faced the empty condo.

  Her favorite cookbook was still on the kitchen counter, and a pair of her sandals lay next to the door as though waiting to be worn. Matt wondered if it would be easier if her things weren’t there to remind him of her. Then he shook his head, realizing that nothing would make this separation easy.

  Not knowing when they could be together again weighed heavily on his heart. Just the day before, Matt had put the wheels in motion to be traded. Quite simply, there was only one place he wanted to go: Florida.

  Though he hadn’t been officially informed of her whereabouts, Matt knew where CJ was, or at least the general area. If Doug wanted to keep a close eye on her, she had to be living somewhere near Miami since Doug resided there. Still, understanding the need to be cautious, Matt had let Keith Toblin step in and run the negotiations for a possible trade. Acting as his agent, Toblin could keep their objectives from being too obvious while trying to negotiate the way to their goal.

  Still, as Matt was beginning to realize, these things took time.

  Pulling open the refrigerator, he pulled out some leftover pizza. He put it into the microwave, randomly punching some numbers. When he figured it should be warm enough, he pulled it out and moved over to watch the late news.

  Matt flipped through the channels, settling on the first one that wasn’t airing a commercial. The weatherman droned on about the rain that might or might not happen the next day, citing the expected percentage of humidity, which Matt decided he’d rather not know. He watched mindlessly, sitting up a little straighter when the sportscaster came on. As the sportscaster referenced a local Olympic hopeful in boxing, Matt wondered when CJ would have the chance to swim next.

  She had left behind her meet schedule, and he knew that one meet was taking place this weekend in LA. He doubted that Doug would let her compete again so soon, but he had been given so little information that he had no idea of her current schedule. For all Matt knew, Malloy had already been found and the government was just being overly cautious in keeping Matt and CJ apart until after Chris Rush’s trial.

  Five minutes later, the newscaster shattered that illusion. “A shooting at a swim meet in Los Angeles left one woman dead and another hospitalized.”

  Matt’s heart nearly stopped as he snatched up the nearest phone. Already muttering a litany of prayers for his wife’s safety, he listened to the sketchy details offered on the news. Despite the late hour, he dialed Keith on the phone, who answered on the first ring.

  “I just saw the news,” Matt stated urgently. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Keith assured him. “In fact, she wasn’t even there.”

  “Then what happened? Who was hurt?”

  “We had an agent doubling for CJ. She bruised a couple of ribs, and we’ve arrested everyone that Rush sent.”

  “The news said that someone was killed.”

  “It was the shooter.” Keith’s voice was even. “Sometimes that happens.”

  Matt took a deep breath, feeling both relief that CJ was all right, and regret for the life that had been cut short. “Did you get Malloy?”

  Silence hung for a moment. “No.”

  “Then it probably isn’t over.”

  “We won’t know much until we have a chance to question everyone,” Keith replied. “I’ll give you a call when I know more.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Matt said a second before Keith hung up. He leaned back on the couch and wondered how his wife was taking the news.

  * * *

  CJ woke up early on Sunday morning, at least by most people’s standards. It was nearly six o’clock when she slid her aching body into the oversized bathtub, fully intending to enjoy her day of rest. She let herself relax in the tub until the water started growing cold. Finally, she got out and got ready for church.

  Tara had agreed to take her to the nine o’clock service in a nearby community. Always cautious, Tara didn’t want CJ attending the church near the safehouse.

  Since she had only packed for a weekend swim meet, CJ’s wardrobe was severely limited. Luckily, she had packed a simple, straight skirt and a plain white shirt in the event that she was able to go to church in Minneapolis. She dressed and headed downstairs, wondering if she could talk Tara into taking her shopping for clothes.

  Though it was barely seven, the Sunday newspaper was already sitting on the kitchen table along with a box of doughnuts. Tempted, she opened the box to find two doughnuts already missing. She grinned when she saw the blueberry muffin nestled in with the doughnuts. Assuming that it was meant for her, she set it on a napkin, served herself a glass of juice, and settled down to read the newspaper.

  She turned first to the sports page, starting at the back and working her way forward as she searched for the box scores. She saw that Matt hadn’t played the night before and folded up the sports section. It was then that she saw the headline, “Shooting at LA Swim Meet.” Right above the headline was a photo of a woman lying facedown in a swimming pool.

  CJ scanned the article quickly, then read it again more carefully. She was just moving to retrieve her cell phone to call Doug when Lacey walked into the kitchen.

  “I see you found your muffin,” he stated, opening the box to select a doughnut.

  “Yeah, thanks,” CJ managed, turning the newspaper so he could see it. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Lacey took the paper from her and scanned the article. “Doug called last night and gave us the basic details.”

  “Which are . . . ?” CJ pointed to the photo. “Who is that woman?”

  “The shooter.” Lacey sat down next to her. “Your double was shot, but the bullet hit the body armor. She has a couple of bruised ribs, but she’s fine.”

  “Did they catch Malloy?”

  He shook his head. “He wasn’t there.”

  “This is never going to end, is it?”

  “Have a little faith,” Lacey suggested. “I’m sure a few prayers couldn’t hurt, either.”

  CJ’s eyebrows lifted. “Believe me, I have that part of it covered.”

  Chapter 14

  “What are we doing?” CJ asked, following Lacey and Tara into the backyard. She had intended to relax in front of the television or curl up with a book after church that morning. Obviously they had made other plans.

  “We’re going out for a Sunday drive,” Tara informed her, walking around the swimming pool. She led the way across the yard and opened the gate leading to the dock.

  “Going out in a boat is hardly a Sunday drive,” CJ pointed out, already feeling sticky from the thick humidity.

  “It’s Sunday, and I’ll be driving.” Lacey stepped into the boat and offered her a hand. “Sounds like it qualifies to me.”

  “Why are we going for a Sunday drive?” CJ asked, thinking of how much she appreciated air conditioning.
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br />   “We just want to get a better idea of the lay of the land,” Tara explained. “Besides the fact that we’re not going to leave you home alone, it wouldn’t hurt for you to know your way around too.”

  “You make it sound like I need a babysitter,” CJ muttered, letting Lacey help her climb into the boat. She sat down on the bench seat along the back of the boat while he did a quick check of the equipment. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised to see that he had stashed a handgun in the storage compartment near the radio. Still, she wasn’t sure she would ever get used to having weapons lying around so casually.

  “Just sit back and enjoy yourself,” Lacey suggested. He started up the boat while Tara cast off the lines. A moment later they were motoring through the neighborhood.

  Private docks adorned most of the houses butting up against the water, and all of the yards were well kept. They passed a community dock, presumably provided for those who didn’t have their own access to the water. The houses varied in style, many of them influenced by Mediterranean architecture, and most of the backyards contained lush foliage and swimming pools.

  When Lacey neared the ocean, he turned the boat away from it, instead checking out the other water passageways. Finally, after discovering that the neighborhood had two access routes to the ocean, he moved toward the Atlantic. The surf rocked the boat as they passed out of the channel into the ocean.

  The beach nearby was dotted with umbrellas and sunbathers, and children played in the sand and the surf. A number of other boats were out on the water, from speedboats like theirs to sailboats and private yachts.

  Lacey continued east toward Key Biscayne, finally curving back so that they could get a different perspective of their current residence. From this distance, they could see where both waterways led from the ocean into their neighborhood, the red-tiled roofs peeking out from between thick palm trees.

  When they were clear of the other boat traffic, Lacey turned to look at CJ. “Do you want to give it a try?”